


Cowboys VS Aliens

by Belle_Elegant



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, If you know where to look - Freeform, Major spoilers for all Side Quests and Easter Eggs, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, There are aliens in RDR2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2019-11-29 11:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18222467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle_Elegant/pseuds/Belle_Elegant
Summary: After the events of Chapter 6, Arthur is recruited by Francis Sinclair to find some aliens. No big deal, right?Wrong. So very, very wrong.





	1. My Name is Arthur Morgan

**Cowboys VS Aliens**

_Beep….beep…beep…beep…_

He’d been listening to the steady chirping of a cricket for a while but it took him an unknown amount of time before he became consciously aware of it. His thoughts were sluggish, like molasses in January. Then another sound crept into his awareness; a low buzzing that eventually resolved into voices, talking above him.

“ _All traces gone… blood sample is clear…lung tissue regenerated normally…”_

The words held no meaning for him but he couldn’t puzzle them out because he was distracted by other sensations working their way up through his consciousness. His limbs were too heavy to move and his eyelids were glued shut. Unknown scents, astringent and heavy filled his nostrils. His tongue tasted like the bottom of Pearson’s stew pot. It took him a long time to figure out he was lying on his back on something firm, but softer than the ground and not lumpy. He was in a bed. How long had he been like this?

“ _...finish waking him up…”_

Gradually, the heaviness eased up. The molasses slowing his thoughts was draining away and his mind began to process the words into meaning.

“ _Are you sure about this one, sir? I studied his file. He’s a cold-blooded killer...”_

He could hear the doubt in the words.

“ _He helped me when I was in trouble. I was suffering from the effects of being in that time period twice at the same time, which was entirely my fault of course, I shouldn’t have lingered so long. But he found_ all the pieces of the map and got me back on track. He didn’t ask for anything in return.”

“But…”

“It’s not just gratitude, lieutenant. You know by now that I don’t let personal feelings interfere with my duty.” Arthur recognized the steel of command in the tone. There was a pause, then the voice, a male voice, spoke again. “We need a new agent in that time period now. I can’t go back there anymore. Not even to find poor Nigel _._ ”

“But, sir,” the female started to argue but the male voice interrupted her.

“Very well lieutenant, I will tell you my reasons why I feel this fellow is a good candidate. After I do, do not question me again, understood? One: he from that time which I do not need to explain to you. Two: he is well travelled and is highly observant. He records his observations, which is immensely helpful to us. Three: he isn’t afraid to take risks to satisfy his curiosity, which means he won’t be deterred from doing something dangerous. Four: he is also more open minded that most people from that time and I believe he can be persuaded to help us. Five: if, heaven forbid, _they_ find him, he is quite able to defend himself. We failed Nigel in that respect. In short, lieutenant, we need _him._ We need to have that information. Otherwise we will be fighting this war forever.”

Now that Arthur was more awake, the male voice’s unusual accent seemed to niggle something in the back of his mind. He’d heard it before, maybe? No idea where though.

“Yes sir,” the other voice, a female said, still doubtful.

“You know the war isn’t going as well as we’d like. We know _they_ were there but we don’t know where. He will be a fine agent, once we bring him up to speed. Just have some faith, lieutenant.”

That last part sounded exactly like something Dutch would say. God-damned Dutch. The memories came rushing back and Arthur Morgan drew a deeper breath. There was a prickle in his chest, but not the choking, drowning feeling he’d lived with the last few months. He opened his eyes, but the light was too bright. He squinted and turned his head away from it, pain stabbing his forehead.

“Hold on.” The light dimmed and Arthur was able to open his eyes without pain. A blank white wall was in front of him. “How are you feeling?” the male voice asked.

Arthur turned his head back, the fabric of the pillow softer than he’d ever felt before. An equally soft blanket covered him from his chest down. Everything in the room, including the blank walls were completely white. Even the two people standing next to his bed were dressed from neck to toe in white uniforms over blue accents. One was a young woman, pretty but stern. Her blond hair was shorter than John Marston’s. The other was a man who looked a couple of years younger than Arthur. He was vaguely familiar, but for the life of him, Arthur had no idea why.

“Am I dreaming?” he croaked. “Where’s the stag?”

The woman looked pained. “Sir,” she said.

“I’ll handle this,” the young man interrupted the woman with a wry smile. “Have they tracked down the source of the power surge in the time chamber yet?”

“Engineering has been working on it. They say it should be fixed by the time you need it,” she told him. She glanced at Arthur. “I can send security in here, if you want,” she offered.

“No, no security. We’ll be fine. I’m sure you have other duties besides babysitting me. Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“Yes sir.” Her back stiff with disapproval, she walked away through a panel that appeared as she approached it. It disappeared again after she walked through.

Arthur blinked. ‘ _Magic?_ ’ he thought. It wouldn’t have been the strangest thing he’d witnessed but it was close.

“Never mind her, she’s young and a bit full of herself. How are you feeling?” the man asked, pulling Arthur’s attention back to him.

Arthur took his time answering the question. He felt a bit groggy, but overall okay. For the first time he could remember, he wasn’t in any pain. He was clean and warm. He rubbed a hand over his face and was surprised that there was no beard, just short stubble. “What happened? Where am I?” he croaked.

“Two excellent questions, which I will answer shortly. But first, I must ask, do you remember your name?” The man had reddish hair, parted on the side and cut shorter than Arthur’s, when he finally got around to getting a haircut. There was a red mark around his right eye, spilling down his cheek.

Arthur frowned. He was sure he’d met the man before but still couldn’t place him. “My name is Arthur Morgan,” he answered, struggling to sit up. He nearly yelped when the bed moved under him, positioning itself so he could sit up while still supporting him.

The man quickly reached out to stop Arthur from launching himself off the bed. “Take it easy, Arthur. I know this is very strange to you but trust me, there is an explanation.” The man said. Arthur looked down and realized there was white tape around his arm, with a cord leading away from it.

“Here, let me.” With the ease of familiarity, the man ripped the tape off Arthur’s arm, leaving a dull red patch of skin. The cricket stopped chirping. “Sorry about that,” the man apologized. “We needed to be sure you were complexly healed before we let you wake up.”

“Why do I think you’re stalling about tell me what’s going on?” Arthur said, covering his rising fear with impatience. Arthur didn’t want the man to know how unnerved he was. _Where the hell am I?_ He figured he could take the man in a fight if he needed to, the man wasn’t very big and had a lanky build like John’s. But there wasn’t an exit that he could see, unless the magic hole reappeared.

The man smiled ruefully. “You’re right, Mr. Morgan, I am stalling because this is highly unusual, for both of us. I don’t know if you remember, but we’ve met before. I asked you for help once, to find various rock carvings.”

It finally clicked. “Francis Sinclair!”

Francis beamed. “You remember! That’s great!”

“Hard to forget,” Arthur muttered. It had taken him months and sometimes risking his life, travelling throughout the country and finding all those strange rock carvings on various cliff sides. And then, when he finally made it back to Francis’ cabin, the only person there was a young mother and her baby _named Francis_. It made absolutely no sense. Arthur had made the conscious decision not to think about it. But he did wonder every time he saw the old brass compass in his satchel.

“I know, and what I am about to tell you will be even harder to believe, but it is the truth. You see, I’m a time traveler.” Francis waited with a smile that was both easy and expectant.

“A what?” Arthur said, baffled.

“A time traveler. I travel through time.”

Arthur knew he wasn’t a smart man. Dutch had always done the thinking for the group, until he went crazy. After that, Arthur had to think for himself, which wasn’t easy. He tried, he truly did, but he was completely out of his depth on this. “I don’t understand,” he finally said. “Are you saying you can go to the past? Like to when the pyramids were built?”

“Yes! That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Francis replied enthusiastically.

“What are you doing in my time?” Arthur asked. There was nothing going on that he knew about.

“We’re not in your time. We brought you are here, to the future.” Francis stepped back as Arthur removed the blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Arthur saw he himself was dressed all in white. Soft white pants and a short-sleeved shirt. His feet were bare. “The future?” he repeated stupidly. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“Yes. We are far in the future, at the edge of Earth’s extinction.” Seeing Arthur’s expression, Francis hurried on. “But that’s not your problem, Mr. Morgan. The reason I brought you here is that you helped me once, without asking questions. And even though it was a very difficult task, you succeeded. Now I am asking for your help again.”

“Finding more rock carvings?” Arthur asked. While it was difficult and sometimes dangerous, it was something he could do, something he could understand. Hopefully it would get him out of wherever he was, and back to where things were familiar.

Francis shook his head. “No. This time we need you to find extraterrestrials.”

Arthur stared at Francis. He opened his mouth and closed it. “What the hell are extraterrestrials?” he finally asked. He’d never even heard the word.

“Aliens, beings from other worlds.” Francis said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “They invaded our world at various times in the past. We’ve been going through the entire history of Earth to find and stop them.” He held out his hand and pulled Arthur to his feet. “So far, we have identified several periods in Earth’s history where they came. We’ve stopped them, because we have agents in those time periods that watch for the aliens and alert us.” Francis started pacing around the room. “Your time period has been trickier. We know there are aliens there but we ran into a bit of a snag with the agent in your time period and as such, he cannot perform his duty. So I am asking if you would take his place.”

Francis had used the term ‘bit of a snag’ lightly but it was a huge understatement regarding Nigel. The poor man had been captured by the aliens and his brain had been fried, leaving him to wander endlessly looking for someone named Gavin. Francis himself had gone back to retrieve him, but failed. Being that he already existed in that time period, even as an unborn child, Francis suffered the debilitating effects much faster than usual. Without Arthur’s help, he would have ended up with permanent insanity.

“Do I have a choice?” Arthur asked suspiciously.

Francis nodded, looking sympathetic. “Always. If you say no, we will erase your memories of this place and return you to when and where we took you. You’d be better than when you left, in any case. We went ahead and cured your tuberculosis, and immunized you against other nasty viruses in your time.”

“You did?” Arthur asked, surprised. “Why?”

“You saved me, Mr. Morgan. It was the least we could do.” Francis said with a shrug.

“The doctor told me there wasn’t a cure for tuberculosis,” Arthur said, hoping what Francis said was true but not quite ready to believe him.

“In your time, it wasn’t. But here, in the future?” Francis smirked, leaving the rest of the sentence implied.

Arthur thought about that. The girl walking through the wall, the moving bed, curing his illness. What else could they do? It was too fantastical, like Jack’s stories. But it had a certain attraction. “And if I say yes?” he asked, reluctantly curious.

“If you say yes, you will help save the human race.” Francis smiled. “And you will have my gratitude, which also comes with a considerable sum of gold.” He grinned when he saw Arthur’s undeniable interest.

“And all I have to do is find some aliens?” Arthur asked, rubbing his jaw again. It sounded crazy when he said it.

“Yes!” Francis beamed. “You don’t need to do anything else. We will take care of them.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Arthur mused. He turned the idea over in his mind. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do now that the Van Der Linde gang was broken and scattered to the winds. And after he found the aliens for Francis, maybe he could talk Charles, John and Sadie into going to Tahiti, all expenses paid. “I suppose. I’ll see what I can do,” Arthur said.

“Excellent, we’ll get you the information you need before we send you back.” Francis hid his relief. He didn’t want to tell Arthur that everything was riding on the outlaw. Arthur didn’t need that pressure, and Francis didn’t want to give him that much leverage.

“To my time?” Arthur asked, just to be clear.

“Yes,” Francis said with infinite patience. “Your time. And the exact moment we took you from. No one will even know you were missing.”

Arthur repressed a shiver. He had genuinely thought he was dead when he closed his eyes watching that sunrise, abandoned by Dutch and Micah. Francis dug around under his bed, and pulled out a box which held Arthur’s clothing and boots. They had been cleaned and mended. His gun belt was missing, as well as his bandolier.

“You’re weapons will be where you left them. Please, get dressed,” Francis apparently could read minds as well.

Arthur stripped off the soft white pajamas, not minding being naked in front of a stranger. He had never been modest. Francis busied himself with some sort of glowing panel on the wall anyway.

“Are you ready?” Francis asked, as Arthur finished pulling on his boots.

“Sure,” Arthur nodded to Francis, who smiled and led Arthur through the sliding door, out of the room and into a long white hallway that gradually curved right. The hallway was bare, no pictures or carpets. It seemed to be made of metal.

They passed a window and Arthur had stopped dead. Francis walked briskly ahead, striding around the bend. He didn’t notice Arthur wasn’t following until he was halfway down the hall. He turned around and walked back. Arthur was staring out the large window.

Below them, the planet Earth turned, shining blue and white with majestic splendor.

“Where are we?” Arthur asked, dazed. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend what was happening.

“I beg your pardon, I forget that this is all new to you. We are in a space station orbiting above Earth, as you can see.” Francis said.

“This is real?” Arthur asked, reaching out to rest his fingertips against the window. It felt solid.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” Francis said, serious. “This is real, this is what is at stake. Our home, not matter what year it is. This is what they want to take from us.” He hadn’t been exaggerating when he told Arthur this was the edge of Earth’s extinction. The aliens had a very good chance of winning if they didn’t get Arthur’s time period straightened out. But he didn’t tell Arthur that. The man didn’t need that sort of pressure. He reached out, pulling gently on Arthur’s arm. Arthur followed, numb. They came to a chamber with no windows but several strange-looking chairs facing large panels on the walls. “Step inside,” he instructed. He could see Arthur was in shock, but there was no point in waiting for Arthur to get over it. He had to get Arthur ready for his mission. The faster they briefed Arthur, the faster he could return to his time.

“Where do I start?” Arthur asked. He gasped when Francis touched one of the panels and it light up, showing a familiar landscape.

“We detected some signals north of the place known as Emerald Ranch. That’s a good place for you to start,” Francis said. That was as far as Francis was able to determine when he was in the past, before his mind started slipping. For the next hour, he and Arthur went over various possibilities. Arthur had been through there before and knew it well. Francis was pleased to see Arthur focusing on the mission, rather than wallowing in shock. The only time Arthur faltered was when Francis showed him a picture of the aliens.

“That’s what you’re fighting?” he asked.

“That’s what _we’re_ fighting, for every man, woman and child that ever lived on planet Earth,” Francis corrected gently. “Are you ready to go back, Mr. Morgan?” he asked, after he had answered all of Arthur’s questions.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “More than, actually.”

“Excellent. Don’t be alarmed. A word of advice: you should avoid people that knew you before, at least for a while.” He smiled at Arthur’s confusion. “You’re no longer sick and dying. They may ask difficult questions. But we will of course support you in any way we can. For instance, do you need any funds?” Francis asked.

“I can get by, but I wouldn’t turn down more,” Arthur said, typically understating the sheer amount of cash and guns he had stashed around. Even after giving John his satchel, Arthur figured he could get the gang’s money and the items he’d left in his saddlebags. Still, if Francis was offering…

“When you get settled in, we’ll communicate the location of funds.” Francis assured him.

“How will you be in touch?” Arthur asked.

Francis handed Arthur an old brass compass, identical to the one Arthur had found in the cabin where Francis had lived. “If we need to communicate, we’ll use this.” He opened it, demonstrated how it worked, and closed it with a snap. He handed it to Arthur who put it in his shirt pocket. “Is there anything else you might need?” he asked.

“Can’t think of anything,” Arthur said, anxious to get back to where he belonged.

“All right, let’s go.” He led Arthur out of the room and into the time chamber. It was a huge empty room at the center of the ship.

Seeing Arthur’s expression, Francis smiled reassuringly. “Don’t be scared. You won’t feel a thing.” He stepped back out of the chamber and closed the door, sealing it behind him. He pressed the pad on the side of the door. “Agent is ready for time displacement,” he reported.

Inside the chamber, Arthur’s heart started pounding. He had no idea what was going to happen.

The lights outside the chamber dimmed as power was rerouted to the time chamber generators. A subsonic rumbling shook the station. Just as the rumbling intensified, a voice on the loud speaker came on, counting down from thirty. Arthur shifted uneasily in the chamber but held his panic down to quick breathing. When the countdown reached two, chamber lit up, blinding Arthur. There was a sizzling noise, then…

“Sir! Power surge!” a tech reported to Francis, voice rising in a half-panic.

“Damn it! Engineering said they would have it fixed!” Francis snarled. In the chamber, Arthur disappeared.

“Sorry sir,” the tech said. The lights faded back to their usual brightness and the rumbling stopped. There was a brief quiet, then the station’s regular operations resumed. Francis made his way back to the control center. “Did Mr. Morgan make it back okay?” he asked, forcibly calm. It wasn’t the tech’s fault. They were all overworked. But if they lost Arthur, there would be hell to pay.

“More or less,” the tech said, fiddling with some readouts. Seeing Francis’ narrowed eyes, the tech gulped. “The good news is he he’s back in his general time period. The bad news is he arrived eight years after we took him from there…”

TBC

 

 


	2. Something's Not Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is back, but not everything is what he thought it should be. And there are Murfrees.

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Murfrees, Unbeta’d. You know, disturbing stuff.

**Cowboys VS Aliens**

Sunlight blinded him. Squinting, he put up a hand to block it. Damn, he missed his hat. The smell of earth and trees filled his nostrils. The rock under his feet was solid. Birds sang, and the wind whispered through the nearby trees. The morning air was delightfully cool. With a renewed appreciation of the ability to _breathe,_ he let himself just savor the moment. A robin scolded from a tree below.

He was back.

As his eyes adjusted, he looked around. He was standing exactly where he’d crawled, to the edge of the rock cliff and watched the sun rise over the trees. Arthur could have easily convinced himself that waking up on the space station, talking to Francis, learning about the aliens had all been a fever dream. Except, he drew in a deep breath and his lungs filled fully with no taste of blood in his mouth. And there was a weight in his shirt pocket. He reached in and pulled out an old brass compass. Swallowing hard, he stared at it in his palm but didn’t open it, didn’t activate it. Here was proof, even more than his clear lungs.

It had been real.

Right. Well, he wasn’t going to accomplish anything standing around on a big rock. “S’pose its time I got moving,” he muttered to himself. Arthur needed his saddlebags and their contents if he was going to get anywhere. Carefully, he picked his way down off the stone ledge, stopping every now and then to get his bearings. He and John had run from _that_ direction. The body of his horse, the great-hearted Buell, should be somewhere around…here.

He didn’t see it.

Strange. There wasn’t even a trail to follow. He walked about, searching between the trees. Buell’s corpse should have been easy to find, but he couldn’t find any trace of it. Pursing his lips with a wave of unease, he moved on through the woods. After searching for nearly a half an hour, there was still no sign of Buell’s corpse and Arthur’s gear anywhere. At a loss, he stopped walking. Something moved beneath his boot and he stepped back. Under the green leaves of small plants covering the floor of the woods were dry, sun-bleached bones. Animal bones. A big one by the size of them. He didn’t see a skull, it might have been an elk. But the hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight.

“C’mon Arthur, think!” he commanded himself. What was happening? The birds flitting above him in the trees provided no help. Had Buell somehow survived? No, Arthur had watched the light in the great horse’s eyes go out. He stood and stared down at the bones but they didn’t give him any explanation. Eventually he felt that he should get moving. Standing around in the middle of the woods wasn’t going to get him get him closer to finding aliens.

Or answers.

Even though it was still probably crawling with Pinkertons, he decided to take a chance and go back to Beaver Hollow. There might still be some of the gang’s belongings there. He could avoid the Pinkertons, now that he wasn’t coughing his lungs out. Arthur was good at sneaking when he needed to be.

Walking back, he had time to think. The Pinkertons were focused mostly on Dutch and Arthur so the surviving members of the gang should have gotten away clean. But Arthur had no intention of contacting most of them. Francis’ warning about Arthur’s sudden good health aside, John and his family deserved a normal life. Hunting aliens was not in even the same county as ‘normal’. But maybe Sadie was up for some alien hunting. Or Charles.

When he got close to Beaver Hollow, he slowed down and crept from tree to tree, listening intently for any sign of Pinkertons. Soon, he did hear voices but with a wave of disgust he recognized the distinct speech patterns of the Murfree Brood. How had those inbred freaks managed to move back in so soon? Swearing under his breath while crouching behind a fallen log overlooking Beaver Hollow, Arthur watched as they went about their morning, apparently not concerned about Pinkertons.

As he watched, his lip curled with disgust. The Murfree Brood were much worse than the O’Driscolls. O’Driscolls could be dealt with. These guys were worse than animals, with appetites that would make a dog puke. Arthur had come upon the aftermath of their attacks on innocent travelers. Of all the lowlifes and outlaws Arthur had encountered over the years, it was these guys he felt genuine hatred for. Arthur decided that when he was done with Francis’ job, he would make it his life’s mission to wipe out the Murfrees, every last one of them. He doubted anyone sane would object and Hosea had always said Arthur needed a hobby.

But to the matter at hand, how did they move back into Beaver Hollow so quickly? And by the looks of it, they were well settled in. Luckily, the only one of the cages in camp he saw had a corpse. No flayed person this time at least. But his unease grew.

A whinny interrupted his thoughts. He saw several horses picketed on the far edge of the camp. As usual, they were thin and dispirited. The Murfrees frequently raped and murdered travelers and stole their horses, but never really bothered to take care of them. One of the Murfrees walked to the small herd with an armful of hay, not even close to the amount that would feed half of them. He let out a loud yelp. “Fucking bitch mare bit me!” A reverse-dapple black mare with a long mare and tail the color of fresh snow tossed her head in disdain at the freak and tried to bite him again. The Murfree moved too quickly for her, scampering out of her reach while the others laughed at him. “Gonna shoot that bitch,” the Murfree vowed.

Arthur silently cheered. One of them still had some spirit. Examining the camp again, he spotted a large knife lying on a crate along with some rope. It gave him an idea. Cautiously he backed away, no longer concerned about Pinkertons. Getting caught by the Pinkertons was infinitely preferable to getting caught by the Murfrees.

It took a little while but Arthur managed to find some wild carrots growing in the woods above Beaver Hollow. Glancing up at the sun to gage the time, he decided he didn’t want to wait for nightfall. Working his way back to the camp, he waited just long enough to make sure the sentries weren’t looking in his direction before sneaking into camp, grabbing the knife and rope and sneaking back out. Now came the hard part.

Watching the sentries carefully, he cautiously worked his way up behind the nearest one. The Murfree mutant was muttering as he opened his pants and relieved himself against a tree. With a quick step, Arthur stood up him and stabbed the knife deep into the side of the Murfree’s neck. The sentry didn’t even have a chance to cry out before Arthur was easing his body down to the ground. Holy hell, the stench coming off the Murfree could have stopped a clock. Breathing through his mouth, trying not to gag, he patted the dead man’s pockets. The quick search netted Arthur a crappy shotgun, about a dollar in change and a flask of moonshine. The whole thing had taken Arthur less than a minute, but he knew time was running out now.

Making his way to the next sentry, he repeated the process. Another quick look around told him no one had noticed…yet. After the third, he figured he’d bought himself enough space to grab some horses and get the fuck out of there.

He worked his way around until the horses were right in front of him. A movement to the side made him freeze. It was the corpse in the nearby cage. It twitched just enough for Arthur to see it was a woman.

And she was still alive.

Stomach sinking, Arthur gritted his teeth and crept over to the cage. The smell of putrid flesh, fresh and dried blood and feces were overwhelming. Arthur could see she was suffering terribly. Flies crawled all over her naked body. Just a casual glance told him that she was beyond help.

“Please, kill me,” she rasped, blood dribbling out of her mouth.

Nodding, not daring to speak, Arthur drew the knife and sliced her throat. The look of gratitude in her eyes as they closed for the last time was haunting.

Swallowing his rage, he crouched his way into the middle of the herd of horses, using the knife to cut their hobbles. He selected two of the healthier looking one, tying them together with the rope. He led them to the mare. She snorted suspiciously at him, ears swept back, but a carrot quickly got her attention. “Easy girl,” he said quietly, feeding her the carrot. Up close, he could see she was a thoroughbred. Someone had paid a good amount of money for her. The Murfrees hadn’t had her too long, she wasn’t as thin as the others. She shook her head but didn’t try to bite him. He gave her another carrot. While she chewed, he cut her hobbles and grabbing a handful of white mane, he vaulted onto her bare back.

“Hey!” someone shouted as Arthur kicked the mare into a gallop, scattering the horses he wasn’t stealing. The mare charged through the camp even as the Murfrees came pouring out the cave like the cockroaches they were. A gun fired and Arthur lay low on the mare’s back, hoping the Murfrees aim was as bad as their smell. As they hit the trail leading away from Beaver Hollow, Arthur saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned just as a gun fired. A bullet hammered the left side of his chest and he shouted in pain. He swayed dangerously off to the right and instinctively grabbed the mare’s mane to stay on her back. He knew if he fell off, he was in for a horrible, lingering death. The Murfrees didn’t know the meaning of ‘mercy’.

Four strides later they were past the sentry. As the mare galloped along the trail, Arthur patted frantically at his chest, expecting large amounts of blood. But all he felt was the weight in his shirt pocket. Miraculously, the compass had blocked the bullet.

Exhaling with relief, Arthur concentrated on getting the hell out of there. The Murfrees would be after him with all their hillbilly persistence. At Arthur’s kick, the mare leveled out and lengthened her stride, following the path. Arthur marveled at her speed. It would have been a crime to let the Murfrees abuse such a magnificent animal. He guided her with his knees, through streams and hollows, muddying their trail. He kept their course generally west. Murfrees didn’t like to venture too far out of their territory, in his experience. West was the fastest way out.

The woods were thick and mountains closed in around them. Arthur knew this area well. They were close to Hamish’s cabin. Once he felt they were well away from any pursuit, Arthur slowed the mare down. She shook her head in protest as he sat back. The other horses were breathing heavily, tugging on the rope, wanting to stop. Finally, she consented to walk, her breathing fast as she tossed her head with great snorts of satisfaction. He grinned and stroked the sweaty neck. “Ya did good, girl,” he praised. He loosened his grip on the rope enough to allow the horses lowers their heads to crop the fresh grass underneath their feet. The food would do them a world of good.

While the horses ate, Arthur looked around to make sure no one else was in sight. It was clear. Still on the mare’s back, he took the compass out of his pocket.

“Fuck,” he said with dismay. The casing was cracked, and the bullet was embedded right in the middle of the cover. He opened it, hoping the damage wasn’t too bad. He pushed the sequence of the buttons like Francis had demonstrated. The compass crackled but lit up. Swallowing nervously, he asked, “Francis, can you hear me?” as the mare raised her head. Her nostrils opened wide as she scented the air, then she shook her head and pawed the ground impatiently.

“Francis, are you there?” he asked again. The mare lowered her head back down to continue eating.

In his hand, the compass hissed quietly, then... _”Arthur!”_ It was Francis.

“Francis!” Arthur said, relieved beyond words.

 _“Arthur? I can’t hear you. If you can hear me you should know”_ Francis’ voice stopped abruptly and the compass spit some sparks, then went dark.

“Aw, shit.” Arthur shook it, hoping to get it to work, but the compass remained dark. He pushed the buttons again, but there was no response this time. He looked around helplessly, trying not to panic. What was he supposed to do now? He tried to think, but his mind didn’t give him any answers. So he fell back to his old habit of trying to figure out what advice Dutch would give him in this situation.

“ _It’s okay Arthur. You just need to make a plan,”_ he could practically hear Dutch say in the back of his head. It was not the Dutch that had coldly walked away as Arthur was dying at his feet only hours earlier. But a younger Dutch, one that took in Arthur when he was an idiot teenager, mad at the world. That Dutch Arthur would die for.

“Easy for you to say,” Arthur muttered out loud. “You’re the expert in plans.” The mare tipped her ears back, listening to his voice.

“ _All those years with me and you learned nothing?”_ Dutch asked, sounding disappointed, yet not surprised. _“First, ask yourself, what is the most important part of any plan?”_

Of course. Arthur rolled his eyes at himself for being an idiot.

He needed money.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely hated the Murfree Brood. I would often go out of my way to kill them. 
> 
> The reverse-dapple black thoroughbred is from the pre-order pack. My Arthur rode her the entire game.
> 
> And yes, Arthur is supposed to be hunting aliens. But as you can see, it won’t be that easy. He’s got a bit of puzzle to solve first. It’s always been implied that Arthur isn’t the smartest of the bunch. But he’s trying!


	3. What is today's date?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur learns the truth, but now what?

**Cowboys VS Aliens Chapter 3**

Arthur guided the mare away from Beaver Hollow, heading west towards Hamish’s cabin. He needed a place to lay low while the horses he had rescued from the Murfrees regained enough weight for someone to want to buy them. He needed the money for some supplies. He decided to keep the mare, though. She wasn’t Buell, but she was well bred and could run like the wind. While he was waiting he would also hunt and gather enough pelts to bring to the local trader to commission a new satchel. He really missed having one, and even more, he missed his journal.

And, as luck would have it, Hamish’s cabin was not too far from Emerald Ranch.

The birds sang in the trees above him and he could hear elks bugling in the high country as O’Creagh’s Run came into view. As he rode down the slope toward the lake, he frowned. That eerie feeling was back that something wasn’t right. Cautiously, he hefted the shotgun, its weight was comforting even though he wasn’t sure it would fire. At first, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The lake was quiet, except for the occasional fish jumping to catch a mosquito. The woods surrounding the place was peaceful. Then he got a good look at the cabin and pulled the mare to a stop.

“What the hell?” he asked quietly.

The cabin had been in excellent condition when he’d last saw it, several weeks ago. But now the roof was sagging, and several windows were broken. The back door wasn’t shut all the way, dangling from a single hinge. What had once been a tidy, solid cabin now looked like every other abandoned shack Arthur had explored. He guided the horses at the edge of the lake and allowed them to drink. He watched the area carefully, but nothing out of the ordinary stirred. The whole setting was almost serene.

But eerie.

Still unnerved, when the horses had enough water he put them in the tiny paddock behind the cabin, which was overgrown with grass. He had to put some of the fallen fence rails back into place so the horses wouldn’t wander out. With the animals taken care of, he steeled himself and walked to the front of the cabin, stepping carefully onto the sagging porch. All senses keyed to their utmost, Arthur slowly pushed open the front door. The cabin was empty. He entered the main room and scowled in irritation. Everything was covered in a thick layer of grime. Some creature had gotten in and destroyed most of Hamish’s things. The blankets had been chewed to pieces, the straw mattress had sunken into the floor and the smell was foul. He left the door open to air the place out.

After he was satisfied that nothing inside the cabin was going to attack him, Arthur set about getting the place in good enough shape to stay in for a few days. A quick look into the cupboards netted him some canned peaches and a tube of gun oil, which he later used to clean the shotgun. He dragged the moldy mattress outside to burn.

That evening he caught several good-sized fish after fashioning a fishing pole from a long stick and some cord. The dock had collapsed into the lake so he had to fish from the shore. After dinner he sat on the porch and studied the compass, but the parts were too intricate for him to even attempt to repair it. Sighing in disgust at the Murfrees, he put the broken contraption back in his pocket. His only hope of contacting Francis lay with Arthur finding another compass. There was one in the satchel he’d given John. That meant finding John, which Arthur thought wouldn’t be too hard. The trail was still fresh. But how was he going to explain his sudden good health?

While he waited for the horses to regain their lost weight, he spent his time hunting various critters for pelts, and meat. Arthur couldn’t believe how good he felt. He had taken for granted the ability to breathe before. But now, every once in a while he would just stand still, close his eyes and draw in a breath. And he had more energy, more strength. A small voice in the back of his mind wondered if Francis and his friends had done something more to Arthur that they didn’t tell him about. But since he felt so good, Arthur wasn’t going to worry about it.

He used some leather strips to fashion a hackamore for the mare until he could obtain a real bridle for her. He also got on a new satchel from the local trader in exchange for some perfect wolf pelts. He almost felt like his old self.

After a few days, the horses were looking much better and Arthur was ready to set out. After locking up Hamish’s repaired cabin, he mounted the mare. The mare had a smooth gate, so he wasn’t in too much discomfort riding bareback. It was early afternoon when he sighted Emerald Ranch. The big barn doors were open so he rode right in. The foreman strolled into the barn behind him as Arthur slid off the mare’s back.

“You’re new,” Arthur said amiably, landing lightly on the dirt floor. He couldn’t get over how good he felt, even after a day’s ride.

The foreman looked puzzled. “I’ve run this ranch for six years,” he said.

Weird but okay. Maybe the guy Arthur had met before was an assistant. He mentally shrugged. “I’d like to trade these two for some gear.” He held up the rope he had led the two horses with.

“They’re pretty thin. Where’d you get them,” the foreman asked skeptically. He didn’t want such skinny horses but he’d take them if he could get them for next to nothing.

“Took ‘em off some Murfrees,” Arthur said, matter of fact.

The foreman’s eyebrows raised. “I see,” he said slowly, giving Arthur a closer look. “Did you kill any of them?” he asked with studied casualness.

Arthur nodded. “Yep, and I will continue to kill as many as I can, damned filth.” He spat in the dirt, thinking of that poor woman he’d put out of her misery.

The foreman came to a decision. “Very well. I’ll take the two in trade for a saddle and bridle for your mare. Do you want anything else?”

Arthur dug around in his pocket and pulled out the money he’d take from the Murfree sentries. It had come to about three dollars and some odd cents. He wrinkled his nose. The money still had the Murfree stink on it. “How much for some hay and peppermints for the mare?” he asked.

“No charge,” the foreman replied. “Anyone who kills Murfrees is always welcome here.” He didn’t tell Arthur that they had killed his teenage nephew about two years ago…eventually. The body they had recovered was mutilated almost beyond recognition. The foreman’s sister never recovered from the loss of her only son.

“Thanks mister,” Arthur grinned in appreciation. He sat on a straw bale while the stable hands groomed the mare, checked her shoes and got his new gear ready.

The foreman motioned for a stable hand to take the two horses and get them some feed. He then selected a serviceable saddle and bridle, as well as a saddle blanket and saddlebags. When Arthur asked about them, the foreman said they were old, and he was going to throw them out anyway. They didn’t look worn out to Arthur but he didn’t say anything. The mare was ready and soon Arthur was shaking the foreman’s hand.

“You bring me more horses from the Murfrees, I’ll buy them,” the foreman promised.

“You bet. Thanks mister,” Arthur said happily. The interaction had turned out much better than he’d hoped for. He turned the mare north toward the train station. He thought John might have headed to Annesburg. If so, Arthur could take the train there and hopefully catch up. He let the mare jog, enjoying the feel of the saddle. The mare’s dark coat gleamed in the sunlight.

The station was unchanged, but he didn’t recognize the clerk. After purchasing a ticket to Annesburg, he found out there was a wait until the train arrived. Arthur wandered over to where a newspaper lay abandoned on a bench. Maybe there was news of the gang, hopefully Micah’s hanging, if Arthur was lucky. He picked up the paper and frowned at the articles. There was nothing about the shootout at Beaver Hollow. Then he noticed the date and the world tilted under his feet.

“You okay there, mister?” the clerk asked. Arthur had gone bone-white. “You look like your gonna pass out.”

“What’s today’s date?” Arthur asked the clerk. Maybe he’d read it wrong. His voice sounded strange, like it was coming from far away.

“The sixth of June, nineteen o seven,” the clerk said, confused. “You sure you’re alright mister?” he asked again. He didn’t want Arthur to pass out on his floor.

“I’m fine…” Arthur answered, numb. But his legs refused to hold him up and he sat down heavily on the bench, staring blankly at the newspaper in his hands. For several minutes he just sat there, unable to think. Then a cup appeared in front of his face and he realized that the clerk was talking to him.

“Here, mister, drink this,” the clerk was saying.

Arthur took it and drank. It was plain water, lukewarm but it helped snap him out of the stunned paralysis he’d been in. “Thanks mister,” he muttered, handing the cup back.

“Sure.” The clerk went back to his mail room.

Arthur looked down at the paper again. It was eight _years_ later. That explained so much, the Murfrees, the state of Hamish’s cabin, the bones he’d stepped on while looking for Buell… His mind finally started working again. “Oh Christ,” he breathed. There was no way he could track John now. The trail would have long since gone cold.

And John was such a hothead, chances were he was long dead. And even if by some miracle John was still alive, what were the chances that he’d be living under an alias? “Pretty fucking high,” Arthur muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. What a fucking mess. He pulled out the compass from his pocket again and stared at it. Francis had assured him that Arthur would be put back at the moment he’d been taken from. “Damn you, Francis,” Arthur muttered. He tried to think of what to do next, turning the compass over in his hands. Maybe he should go back Francis’ cabin over in West Elizabeth, and see if there was another compass.

Not having anything better to do, he got heavily to his feet and trudged out the door, not responding to the clerk’s question about his train ticket. The earlier feeling of well-being had abandoned him. The mare shook her head as he climbed into the saddle. He held her to a walk while he came to grips with his new reality. Now that he knew the truth, Arthur couldn’t believe how oblivious he’d been. The signs were everywhere. The countryside was full of farms, and the roads were busier. He turned the mare west. In the distance the snow at the top of Mount Shann gleamed.

“Nice horse!” a stranger called out to him as he passed by on the road. Arthur absently tipped his hat in response.

They made good time because every once in a while, Arthur would give in to the mare’s insistent tugging on the reins to turn her loose. She snorted with delight as she dashed up and down hills and splashed through streams. Despite his depression, Arthur himself couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Buell had been power, but she was pure speed.

He wrinkled his nose at the heavy, oily smell from the Heartland oil fields. He didn’t stop to look but the memories of the carnage there, of Dutch walking away from him, of Rains Fall’s sacrifice made him tighten his grip on the reins until the mare danced sideways in protest. He relaxed his hold and was relieved when they left the oil fields and their ghosts behind. He felt the same way, only far worse as they rode by Valentine and the turn-off to Horseshoe Overlook. He didn’t stop. He didn’t even look in that direction. The memories were too painful, the ghosts were too real. None of them had known. None of them had the slightest _inkling_ of the tragedy headed their way. Horseshoe Overlook had been the beginning of the violent end of the Van Der Linde gang, soaked in blood and betrayal.

As he neared Strawberry, Arthur halted the mare, who pawed the ground in disapproval. He gave her a peppermint as he stared up at Mount Shann, looming high and forbidding. There was a rock carving up there, one of ten depicting scenes from the history of things to come. For the hundredth time, he wondered who exactly had carved them, and why in such random places? If he even got his hands on another compass, he would ask Francis.

Finding no answers standing around, he let the mare jog the rest of the way to Francis’ cabin. He quickly found the place, and unlike Hamish’s, this one looked exactly like how he’d remembered. It was quiet as he dismounted, but he still grabbed the shotgun from the saddle. The mare lowered her head to crop grass as he climbed the porch steps and knocked. There was no answer. He tried the knob and it turned.

The mural was still there, though the paper was yellowed with age. Now that he knew what it was he was looking at, he was in awe. Arthur himself had done a hell of a job drawing those carvings, but it had never occurred to him that they fit together like a puzzle. Half of what he had drawn made no sense to Arthur. He had no frame of reference for the images. He exhaled and started looking around the cabin, meticulously inspecting every drawer and cupboard. He searched for loose floorboards and up the rafters. After an hour he gave up. There was no old brass compass in the cabin. He went outside and sat on the porch step, shoulders slumped in defeat.

In the west, the sun sank below the horizon.

What a fucking mess.

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long span between chapters. I usually post once per month, as that gives me time to work on the next chapter and make address any inconsistencies going forward. There is a surprising amount of research that will go into this fic, as I want to be as accurate as possible to the game's setting. But sometimes I need to alter the setting to fit the story. I know there isn't a 'stable' at Emerald Ranch, but its a ranch for crying out loud. They must get their horses from somewhere!
> 
> Thank you for reading. =)
> 
> Belle Elegant


	4. An Empty Bounty Board

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur decides what to do next.

**Chapter 4**

Arthur ended up spending the night in Francis’ cabin, sitting on his bedroll on the floor with his back against the wall, staring at the mural until his eyes burned. And the more he stared, the more the feeling grew that the images should _mean_ something, that there was something he should know. But whatever it was eluded him and eventually he gave up, falling into an uneasy doze.

As soon as it was light enough to see, he was up and outside, saddling the mare. The mare’s breath steamed in the cold as she tossed her head when he tightened the girth.The air was very cool, bordering on cold, filled with the fresh scent of cedars and spruces. It reminded him he didn’t have any cold weather gear anymore. He didn’t have _anything_ anymore. No money, no friends, no _family_ , and no way to track them down even if they were still alive. He climbed into the saddle, turned the mare towards Strawberry but didn’t cue her to set out. Instead, he rubbed his jaw and pondered the hopelessness of his situation. He had no idea what to do. Even if he found the aliens, he had no way to contact Francis. Finally, he nudged the mare’s sides and let her start walking towards town. He figured he’d had maybe enough money for some coffee. He’d also check to see if there were any bounties available. He needed to start earning some money to replace his guns and gear. Maybe get a fishing pole as well.

Strawberry was bustling with more people than Arthur remembered when he bought some coffee at the hotel. With about five cents left in his pocket, he wandered outside to people-watch while he waited for the sheriff to come in to work. Keeping an eye on the jail, he remembered Micah rampaging through the town. One of the biggest mistakes in his life was releasing that bastard from jail. The world would have been a much better place if Micah had been hanged like he deserved. The sun rose higher but the morning air was still cool and fresh, and he closed his eyes in sheer pleasure as he inhaled. Hawk’s Eye creek tumbled under the bridge as he leaned against the rail, sipping his coffee. Chicken squawked noisily nearby while a heavy horse-drawn wagon rumbled over the bridge. It was nice to just _be_ in the moment.

Finally, he saw the sheriff ride up on a sturdy bay Morgan. The man dismounted, looped the horse’s reins over the hitching post and climbed the steps to the jail. Arthur felt a wash of relief that it wasn’t same the man from eight years ago. He stowed his cup and took his time wandering in, affecting a casual air. The sheriff looked up with a bored expression, but Arthur knew it was a façade. The man’s eyes were sharp, professional, measuring. Though Arthur wasn’t armed, he made a show of keeping his hands away from his belt anyway. Then he scowled in annoyance. The bounty board was empty. “Times must be pretty good. No one’s committing crimes?” he asked, gesturing to the empty space on the wall.

“Oh, they’re committing crimes,” the sheriff replied. He was lighting the pot-bellied stove with a long match to start the morning coffee. The crackling of burning tinder announced the fire was lit. “You’re just not fast enough.” He shook the match to extinguish it and put the coffee pot on top of the stove.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur asked. He’d noticed the sheriff had positioned himself in such a way that his back was never to the door, or Arthur. He didn’t know who Arthur was, obviously, but he instinctively knew he was in the same room with a man who was used to dealing death. Arthur approved. They were violent people in violent times.

“Means that as soon as I post a bounty, that Adler woman here to snatch it up,” the sheriff said, half in admiration and half in annoyance. “It’s like she has a sixth sense about those things.”

“Adler woman?” Arthur asked. Sadie? It had to be. Hope rekindled in his chest, just like the fire in the stove.

“Yeah, a real hellcat. She’s determined to prove she’s better than most of the men around here, and to be honest, she’d be right. Tougher than most, at any rate,” the sheriff admitted.

“Do you know where I can find her?” Arthur asked, fighting urge to go over and shake the sheriff until he told Arthur what he wanted to hear. If it was Sadie, she might know where John was. And even if she didn’t, she was a familiar face, a friend.

“She’s never given me an address.” Seeing Arthur’s scowl, he smirked. “Rumor has it that between bounties she hangs out at a ranch called Beecher’s Hope.”

“Never heard of it,” Arthur said, reigning in his impatience.

“It’s down west of Blackwater. Nothing grows there and was abandoned for a long time, but some idiot bought it recently and is fixing it up,” the sheriff said as he sat behind his desk to wait for the coffee to get hot. He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk.

“Thanks,” Arthur said shortly and strode out the door. It was a long shot but finding Sadie was his only chance at finding John. Grabbing the mare’s reins, he mounted up. Turning east, he kicked her into fast jog as he ignored the indignant exclamations of pedestrians scrambling out of his way. Leaving Strawberry behind, he let the mare have her head. She snorted happily as she shifted into a ground-eating lope. It wasn’t long before he saw Fort Riggs to his right, abandoned to the elements long ago. Arthur had explored it in the past, but he didn’t like the uneasy feeling it had left him with. It felt like bad things had happened there. Later, a stranger he met in an isolated camp had confirmed it, even as the man had drank himself to death while Arthur sat next to him.

As they approached the Upper Montana River, Arthur reined the mare to a stop and studied the far shore. The bounty hunters had hounded them mercilessly after the gang fled Blackwater and every time Arthur had been near the banks of the river, he could see their camps on the other side, waiting. A grim reminder that not everyone shared their values. He had to tell himself that it was eight _years_ later, everyone probably thought he was dead. No one would be looking for him now.

He hoped _._

Even as he told himself those things, he was so tense in the saddle the mare dance sideways as they crossed the river. Arthur half expected to be shot at as soon as the mare’s hooves touched the east bank. There were plenty of riders and wagons passing by, some greeted him, and others ignored him. But no one gave him a second look and eventually he relaxed.

In the distance to the east he saw the smoke from Blackwater and suddenly remembered the money they’d left there after the botched robbery that started the gang’s downward spiral. It had been a substantial amount and was well hidden. Only Dutch, Hosea and Arthur had known the exact location. He made a mental note to check to see if it was still there. There was someone riding toward him on the road. “Excuse me, do you know where Beecher’s Hope is?” he asked the random stranger, pulling the mare to a stop.

“Just over that rise,” the man said, gesturing to the south.

“Thanks mister,” Arthur touched the brim of his hat and turned the mare in the indicated direction. The sun was high in the sky as he rode up to the gate and looked down at ranch. The house and barn were obviously brand new. There was a handful of cows milling around in the paddock eating hay and several horses hitched to the post in front of the house, tails swishing at flies. He didn’t recognize any of them. Arthur rode up to the house and dismounted, hitching the mare to the post next to the other horses. Hoping that one of the horses belonged to Sadie, he lightly stepped up onto the porch, knocked on the door and stepped back. A cow mooing belligerently on the other side of the barn drew his attention and he turned around to see if anyone was there. Behind him, the door opened.

Arthur turned back around and his question about Sadie died in his throat.

John Marston was standing in the doorway.

“John!” Arthur grinned widely, genuinely happy to see the younger man. “Good to see you’re still alive.”

John didn’t move or say anything, and his face was pasty white, making his scars stand out more prominently.

“Hey John,” Arthur said, smile fading. “You don’t look so good. You alright?” Arthur had known he’d been gone eight years, but it didn’t truly sink in until he really looked at John. John’s hair was still jet black, but there were lines on his face that were new. He’d also filled out a great deal. Before Beaver Hollow, John had been skinny and lanky, but now he’d matured, put on weight and filled out.

“A-Arthur?” John croaked, finally moving, shaking his head. “That really you? I ain’t seeing things?”

“Yeah it’s me, dumbass. I’m really here.” Arthur grinned again. Before he could say anything else, John lunged forward and caught Arthur in a bear hug. Delighted, Arthur returned the hug, clapping John on the back, then expected to be turned loose. But John kept his arms wrapped around Arthur’s chest, head buried in Arthur’s shoulder.

“Hey, John,” Arthur said, starting to get uncomfortable as the moment dragged on. “You sure you’re okay?”

“No, I’m not.” Finally John released his hold. His eyes were red but dry. He suddenly he gripped the front of Arthur’s shirt and pulled him close. “Where the hell have you been? Why didn’t you let us know you were alive?” he snarled right in Arthur’s face.

“Wait, calm down, John,” Arthur started, raising his hands.

But John wasn’t having any of it. “Don’t tell me to calm down you asshole. You think you can just knock on my door and say ‘hi’ like nothing happened? Like it hasn’t been _eight fucking years!_ And you, you son of a bitch, look exactly the same!” Standing in front of him was the Arthur of their younger days, strong and shining. Now there was no trace of the tuberculosis that had been killing his brother. “Where the fuck have you been?” John was all but shouting as he shook Arthur again.

Annoyed, Arthur figured he’d still be able to take John down if John swung on him, but they were more evenly matched now and Arthur winning a fight between them was no longer a sure thing. “John, if you’ll just let me explain,” Arthur said, gritting his teeth against the grip on his shirt and his temper.

“How? How for one goddamned minute can you explain disappearing on us, on _me_ , for eight years?” John demanded, releasing Arthur and stepping back.

But before he could answer there was movement behind John. “Arthur, is that really you?” a familiar voice asked. Charles was standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Arthur replied, still watching John warily but John went and leaned against the porch rail, glaring out over the yard. Arthur turned to Charles. “I didn’t expect to see you here. It’s good to see you!” He grinned widely and held out a hand to shake but Charles ignored it, instead pulling Arthur into a hug.

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” Charles said, after he released Arthur. “I went back to look for your body, but I didn’t find it, obviously.”

“Found it now,” Sadie quipped from behind Charles. She and Uncle were crowding out onto the porch. As Charles stepped back she took his place, grinning with delight. “It’s good to see you again, Arthur,” she said, hugging Arthur close. She released him and stepped back, looking at him up and down in appreciation. “Dang, wherever you went, it sure agreed with you. You look much better than the last time we saw you.”

“She’s right. You haven’t aged a day. It ain’t natural. It’s gotta be witchcraft,” Uncle declared, giving Arthur the evil eye.

Arthur rolled his eyes and stepped back. He wasn’t going to hug Uncle. “It’s not witchcraft, you old coot.”

“Then what is it?” John asked bluntly, still tense, still mad.

“Actually, I’ve been out of the country. Did me a world of good,” Arthur said, keeping his words vague. Uncle’s words about witchcraft had him rethinking his decision to tell the others his new mission. John was genuinely angry at him and Arthur didn’t want to rile him up even more with talk of aliens and travelling to the future.

“That’s for sure,” Sadie said, smiling as she perched on the porch rail near John. She loved Arthur like a brother. “I don’t think I’ve even seen you look so healthy. I’m starting to agree with Uncle. It’s not natural.”

This was getting out of hand. With the hostile looks John was giving him, as well as the uncertain ones he was getting from Charles and Sadie, he decided to keep his mission secret until he could get a feel on how they would react to the news. “Yeah, yeah,” he waved Sadie’s comments off. “Look, I’m glad to see all of you got out, yes even you Uncle. I can’t believe I found you all. What happened since Beaver Hollow?”

They settled into chairs on the porch and each took turns telling him their stories, taking breaks once in a while to get some sarsaparilla, or feed the livestock. By the time they had caught Arthur up, the set was getting low in the west.

“Well, it’s too bad Micah is still around,” Arthur said, sighing. “Was hoping he’d met a bullet or a rope by now.”

“You going after him?” Charles asked curiously. He was inspecting an apple from a barrel they’d gone out to pick from a small orchard in the Tall Trees s couple of days earlier. Satisfied it was free of worms, he tossed it to Sadie.

“I’ve got a debt to pay,” Arthur said. Maybe after he’d found the aliens for Francis he’d give it a go. “If he’s still polluting the world when I’m done, I’ll be more than happy to take care of him.”

“A debt?” John asked. The hostility had diminished but was still there, under the surface.

“The guy who saved me asked me to find something for him,” Arthur said.

“Is that the guy you owe the debt to? Who is he?” Sadie asked, munching on her apple.

“His name Francis Sinclair. I met him a while ago near Strawberry when we were camped at Horseshoe Overlook. He asked me for help finding something. So, I did, didn’t think much about it afterward. But he repaid me by saving my life and curing me.” It was the truth. Arthur could tell he hadn’t fooled them completely though. They still looked a bit skeptical, especially John.

“It took eight years to cure your tuberculosis?” John asked with barely-masked skepticism.

The attitude was getting old. Sighing, Arthur looked him dead in in the eye. “Do you really think that I would willingly abandon you all for eight years, John? Curing tuberculosis isn’t just waving a hand and it would magically disappear. My lungs were badly damaged and it took some time for them to heal,” he reminded his brother gently, not answering John’s question. Actually, Arthur didn’t know exactly how long it had taken for Francis and his people to cure Arthur, but it would hopefully make John drop the subject. And it worked. John looked mildly ashamed. “When I was finally healthy, he asked me to find something for him. I said I would because I owe him.”

The others looked thoughtful. “What’d you need to find? Maybe we can help,” Sadie offered, looking contrite.

“Thanks, Sadie. I appreciate it. Turns out that I need my old satchel. You still have it John?” he said, hoping against hope.

To his relief John nodded and stood up. “Yeah, I’ll get it.” He went inside and soon he came back carrying Arthur’s original satchel. “I spent the money,” he said bluntly.

“That’s fine,” Arthur shrugged. He opened the satchel and rooted through various items and papers. And there on the bottom was the compass. He pulled it out, opened it and yep, it was the same as the one Francis had given him. He snapped it shut and put it in his pocket. The broken one went back into the satchel. He handed it back to John. “Thank you,” he said.

But John just waved it off. “Keep it, it’s yours. That’s what you came here for? And old compass?” John asked. He’d thought about selling it once or twice, but didn’t because it had belonged to _Arthur_. And that meant more to John that a few dollars.

“Yeah, it belongs to Francis,” Arthur said. “I picked it up from his cabin later after he’d left. Guess it has some sentimental value or something. By the way, where’s Abigail and Jack?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Visiting Abigail’s sister,” John said with a twist of his lips. Noticing Sadie and Charles shaking their heads behind John, Arthur didn’t pursue the topic. At that point Uncle declared he was starving to death so they went inside and cooked dinner while catching Arthur up on local politics and other points of interest, including the Skinner Brothers, a gang that hung out in the Tall Trees with highly disturbing habits that rivalled the Murfree Brood.

“Christ, where do these people come from? Roasting people alive? When does that get fun?” Arthur wondered.

It was late when they decided to turn in. John’s house was big enough for everyone to find a place to sleep. The house grew quiet and after he was sure everyone was asleep, Arthur stepped out to the porch. The moon was shining brightly overhead and the crickets were chirped steadily. He could hear Uncle snoring inside. Holding his breath, he opened the compass and pressed the sequence of buttons, exhaling in relief as the compass lit up with a soft blue light.

“ _Who is this?”_ Francis’ voice asked.

"It’s me, Arthur,” Arthur replied, stepping down off the porch and striding away from the house. He didn’t want anyone to overhear him talking to someone in the future, through a device that looked like an old brass compass.

“ _Arthur! Why are you not using your communicator?”_

“The one you gave me doesn’t work anymore. Some Murfree Brood bastard shot it. So I’m using the compass you left in your cabin.”

“ _You’re using my old communicator? I must say, that’s very clever! So listen, I must tell you. There was an issue with the time chamber and you are now eight years in your future.”_

“Yeah, I figured that out,” Arthur drawled, a bit sourly.

“ _Please accept my sincerest apologies for that. You were supposed to be put back at the moment you were taken. I hope it hasn’t made things too awkward for you.”_

“Its fine,” Arthur said, not wanting to talk about it. “Francis, you got anything more for me about those aliens?”

“ _I believe so,”_ Francis replied. _“We were able to trace the signals to a shack north of Emerald Ranch. According to some very old records we managed to dig up, the inhabitants may have been a death cult.”_

Arthur looked up at the sky, but his thoughts were far away, back in the past. “I think I know the place,” he said. He’d visited it once. It was hard to forget the desiccated corpses laying in beds. He’d gone through the chests of drawers, looking for anything he could use or sell. But it was the piece of paper on the strange altar that gave Arthur the creeps when he’d read it. Arthur had absently stuffed the paper into his satchel, looted the place and left. “I’ll head over there first thing in the morning.”

“ _Very good. If there is nothing else to report, I will take my leave. Contact me if you require any assistance. And, please be careful Arthur, these are very dangerous enemies,”_ Francis said and the glow coming out of the compass faded. Arthur closed the compass and sighed, putting it back in his pocket. Well, finally something went right. There was a noise right behind him that sounded like the hammer of a revolver being cocked. Arthur spun around.

Standing there was John, Sadie and Charles. John had his gun out and pointed at him. “Looks like Uncle was right,” he snarled.

**TBC**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place before Abigail and Jack come back to John. Also, apologies for the delay. Life has been very busy.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the set up. The rest of the story will take place during Red Dead Redemption 2’s epilogue with some of the the surviving gang. Like I said in the warnings, major spoilers for Stranger Missions and Easter Eggs.
> 
> As for Arthur’s look, I kept my Arthur’s hair and beard as close to Clint Eastwood’s in a Fist Full of Dollars as I could. And by the end of the game, Arthur had every gun obtainable, and most of the outfits and trinkets as well.


End file.
